


O Children

by reading_writing_dreaming



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Park Seonghwa is Whipped, Seonghwa is obsessed, getting together?, hongjoong rockstar, im too weak for anything other than a happy ending ok, o children by nick cave, pls read this idk how to tag, poetic ramblings about Hongjoong's beauty, rocker ateez
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28073010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reading_writing_dreaming/pseuds/reading_writing_dreaming
Summary: If Seonghwa thought about the decisions that led him to this place, he would, without a doubt, make them all again. He would do everything the same to be staring at Hongjoong on stage, belting the lyrics to his favourite song, sweat dripping down his face as if it was carving into a marble statue of some long forgotten Greek god. Hongjoong was Apollo, the sun itself, and Seonghwa - Icarus, trying to reach that painful beauty, knowing he will fail. A dedicated servant nevertheless.He hoped he wouldn’t get burned.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	O Children

**Author's Note:**

> twt was freaking out about rockstar ateez and someone [tweeted photos of Hongjoong](https://twitter.com/rocktinys/status/1338298665987928065?s=20) and I was inspired to write this mess!!! I hope you enjoy this braindump!! I wrote it in two hours and edited it for like 30 mins so yeah,,,,,, enjoy! also this is my first ever posted fic so pls be gentle thx.,..,...,,,,,
> 
> PLS LISTEN TO O CHILDREN BY NICK CAVE WHILE U READ!!!!

_Pass me that lovely little gun  
My dear, my darling one  
The cleaners are coming, one by one  
You don’t even want to let them start_

If Seonghwa thought about the decisions that led him to this place, he would, without a doubt, make them all again. He would do everything the same to be staring at Hongjoong on stage, belting the lyrics to his favourite song, sweat dripping down his face as if it was carving into a marble statue of some long forgotten Greek god. Hongjoong was Apollo, the sun itself, and Seonghwa - Icarus, trying to reach that painful beauty, knowing he will fail. A dedicated servant nevertheless. 

He hoped he wouldn’t get burned.

Their set had just finished and the small crowd in the shithole bar clapped and cheered for them. That was Hongjoong’s power. The rest of the group too. But it was hard to focus on anyone when Hongjoong was front and centre and weeping over the lyrics he wrote like they were his children leaving him for good. The once apathetic crowd drew closer in a trance, swelling and moving with the music. They cast a spell. The sounds and words they crooned, vocalized the deepest desires of those present. They were able to forget and let loose for those few moments. 

“Fuck!” Hongjoong exclaimed. He tried and failed again to light the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He was leaning on the brick wall next to the propped open back door. Seonghwa was standing in front of him, holding out his own lighter waiting for Hongjoong to use it. Use him. 

“Thanks.” He sighed on his first exhale, the tension releasing from his shoulders. Shoulders that once held wings. Angel wings, from one of those renaissance paintings. Or maybe they were bat-like wings, from some hellish dimension. No, that was all wrong. Hongjoong, bathed in the glow of the emergency light, leaning against a wall as if it were made for him, awash in the faded sounds of the bar so close to them yet so far away, he was no devil. He was the purest thing Seonghwa had ever seen. He could almost see the glowing, gaudy halo. Seonghwa would drop to his knees and pray if he knew Hongjoong wouldn’t think him weird. 

“When’s our next gig?” Seonghwa asked in the silence. He knew of course. It was two days from then at a slightly bigger venue, they were the opening act for a local group. He just wanted to hear Hongjoong’s voice. The man of the hour looked at him, knowing that Seonghwa knew. Seonghwa was the most responsible one of them all. He kept them all on track. He kept Hongjoong on track. At least that’s what Hongjoong told him once. Seonghwa couldn’t breathe properly for a week after.

“That old venue downtown, next to that Chinese place we like.” He said, “in like four days.” He finished. Wrong. But Seonghwa would get them where they needed to be. Hongjoong had more important things to worry about. He took one last drag of the cigarette and threw it onto the pathway in front of them. He stepped forward and stamped it out with his black boots. He kept his boot there, staring down at a puddle as if it held the answers. Hongjoong was always trying to answer a question. Seonghwa was never the answer. He wanted to be the answer. 

_They are knocking now upon your door  
They measure the room, they know the score  
They’re mopping up the butcher’s floor  
Of your broken little hearts_

Seonghwa was an admirer long before he was in the band. He was bordering on obsessed when he attended the show that changed his life. He had bought every demo, he attended every show, he was a pretty silent observer but probably the most dedicated in their small sleepy town. A town far too small for Hongjoong. Hongjoong deserved more than this broken, empty place. 

They had finished their set, thanking the audience and walking off stage, pulling the energy, the air, from the venue as they went. Seonghwa, as always, was left gaping in front of the stage. Breathless, floaty. Like the best high. Like the afterglow of really good sex. He went back to his seat at the bar in a daze. He barely remembered his own name. He did remember one thing though. Kim Hongjoong, mewling out lyrics, almost crying them into a microphone. He fell to his knees in passion, like a man confessing his sins. Seonghwa was right in front of him. Face to face with the man he had admired for so long. His thighs in the tightest of leather, his mullet artfully messy, rivulets of sweat dripping from his jaw to his neck into the collar of his sweater. And Seonghwa? Oh, he was gone. He was in that floaty space. He lived in that moment. He was the pilgrim who finally attained his holy destination. Ready to take communion, to worship. He would live in that moment if he could stop time. But time moved ever forward. 

The bar was closing, Seonghwa was stuck reminiscing again. People always said he lived in his head too much for his own good. He paid his tab, shrugged on his old leather jacket and made his way out of the bar. All he had to look forward to was a shitty, cold, empty apartment. 

“Hey!” A voice had beckoned him as he walked out. He turned. There they were in their black leather glory, Ateez. The objects of his admiration. He realized with a start that it was Yunho, their lead guitarist that had summoned him, one of their bassists, Mingi, standing next to him. 

“Yes?” He called back. He was breathless. 

“You come to all our shows right?” He asked. Seonghwa felt the blood rushing to his face at being caught. Well, it was within his rights to attend their shows, so it wasn’t like he was doing something wrong. Still, he blushed. And he nodded. 

“I’ve been following you guys for a while. I really like your stuff.” He explained, trying to sound normal for once in his goddamn life. 

“We’ve noticed.” Yunho said with a chuckle. “We’re going a town over to grab some drinks, wanna join us?” He asked. He heard some agreement from the others. He tried not to but couldn’t help himself to look for the smaller lead singer. Hongjoong must already be in the van. Seonghwa didn’t have anything to do the next day, so he agreed. It was his dream and it was infinitely better than spending another night alone in this desolate hell. 

So they went, they drank, they talked, and Seonghwa became one of them, almost instantly. He never looked back. 

_Oh-Oh-O Children  
Forgive us now for what we’ve done  
It started out as a bit of fun  
Here, take these before we run away  
The keys to the gulag_

Jongho, their bassist, drove the van and Yeosang, their silent but sweet drummer, always sat in the passenger seat to navigate. They had been dating since before Hwa joined the band. They were clearly in love and it made Seonghwa happy. He loved love. He had just never experienced it. At least not reciprocally. Seonghwa glanced at Hongjoong. He was writing again. He was always writing. Seonghwa was thinking again. Seonghwa was always thinking. 

They were driving two towns over for a solo concert. It wasn’t their first but it was in a venue that was bigger than their usual. They were growing so fast. It seemed like each gig was more and more intense, more and more full, more and more meaningful. He hoped they would never lose sight of the meaning of it all. He knew, in his heart, Hongjoong wouldn’t let them. He would rather dismantle the group than sell out. If there’s no soul in it, what are we doing this for? “Music is the air I breathe, if any of you don’t feel the same, you can leave.” He had stated on more than one occasion. They all loved music. Hongjoong lived for music. And Seonghwa lived for Hongjoong. There was always a fire burning in Hongjoong. It burned so bright that anyone with eyes, ears, or a soul, could feel it. Seonghwa was drawn to the flame like a moth on its own spiral of destruction. 

“Some say the world will end in fire/ Some say in ice/ From what I’ve tasted of desire/ I hold with those who favor fire.” Seonghwa recited, staring out the window. He felt eyes on his neck, hoped it was Hongjoong. He knew it probably wasn’t. Seonghwa often recited poetry. It was a thing. A thing uniquely Seonghwa that they had all come to accept and love. He heard the quiet whispers of San and Wooyoung, their trumpet and sax player respectively. They often teased him for his poetic ramblings. He couldn’t help it. He was a student of literature before he dropped out of university. He had always been too in his head for school. He still loved words with his whole being. Hongjoong was a writer of words. Seonghwa once worshipped Shakespeare, Frost, Austen, Dickinson, Plath. They all paled in comparison to the man with the mullet nibbling on the end of his pen as he frowned in concentration. 

_O Children  
Lift up your voice, lift up your voice  
Children  
Rejoice, rejoice  
Come on, come on, come on, come on_

The rehearsal went smoothly, it always does. The crowd could be heard milling around, waiting, anticipating. The group was waiting in the wings to go on, fixing their outfits, the members who wore makeup, touching it up. Hongjoong was standing with his eyes closed. It was his tradition to meditate like that before a show. He wasn’t a religious man, but to Seonghwa it seemed like he was praying. Seonghwa wanted to pray, but he was too far gone for that. How could he place anyone above Hongjoong? Hongjoong opens his eyes and turns to the group. At the moment, Seonghwa, like a wandering soul is the only one there. They lock eyes. Seonghwa grins. Hongjoong responds in kind, his teeth showing. Glittering like the teeth on a shark you might see right before you’re fatally bitten. Like someone who could eat the world raw. Seonghwa would serve it to him on a silver platter. 

_Here comes Frank and poor old Jim  
They’re gathering round with all my friends  
We’re older now, the light is dim  
And you are only just beginning_

Finally the rest arrived. They gathered in their circle. Hongjoong chanted their slogan. They came up with it when Hwa joined. When he completed their tiny puzzle. “8 makes.” 

_Oh-Oh-O Children_

“One team.” They replied. Again, they chanted it. The lights in the seating area dimmed, the crowd screamed. They walked out. And they played. 

_We have the answer to all your fears  
It’s short, it’s simple, it’s crystal clear  
It’s round about and it’s somewhere here  
Lost amongst our winnings_

The thing about Hongjoong is this. No matter where they play, how many people they are in front of. He wails. He cries. He sings like it will be the last time he gets the chance. There is not one performance that Seonghwa has seen him not embody that energy. It’s electric. It’s magnetizing. It’s hypnotizing. Seonghwa would do anything to see it over and over until the day he dies. 

_O Children  
Lift up your voice, lift up your voice  
Children  
Rejoice, rejoice_

Seonghwa plays the keyboard. He plays and plays and watches Hongjoong. Hongjoong baring his soul to the people in front of him. He holds a piece of his heart in his hands, offers it to the audiences. Trusts them not to break it. Seonghwa trusts no one. Seonghwa wants Hongjoong to offer him that bleeding heart. He wants the chance to protect it. To whisper sweet nothings in the hollow cavities, long damaged by careless, rotten, fools. Yet wasn’t Seonghwa just another fool? Playing his silly little instrument like a jester playing for his king. What does this sad jester want? This fool with painted tears? A glance? A smile? A soft touch? 

_The cleaners have done their job on you  
They’re hip to it, man, they’re in the groove  
They’ve hosed you down, you’re good as new  
And they’re lining up to inspect you_

Seonghwa gasps, thanking whatever deity is out there that he was not a vocalist and didn’t have a mic. Hongjoong screams the lyrics. Pain dripping off each syllable. He falls to his knees, the crowd draws closer like they’re inhaling. The song continues, the outro fades, the lights dim. They walk off the stage. Hongjoong, as usual, walks out the back alley. They’ve started needing to block off the alleyways at their shows, as fans try to invade Hongjoong’s after show ritual. Seonghwa, like the devoted disciple he is, follows, almost floating along. When did this little ritual begin? Seonghwa couldn’t remember. One day, he decided to follow Hongjoong outside after one of their shows. Hongjoong didn’t say anything but silently offered one of his smokes. Hwa refused and Hongjoong shrugged, lighting his own. Once, Hwa decided that he was in too deep. He needed distance, he felt inconsolable, helpless with the feelings inside himself. He stayed behind as Hongjoong walked out the back door. When he realized he was alone, he glanced back silently holding the door, beckoning, calling. Not asking, never begging, but Hwa knew he was being summoned. And he followed. He would always follow. 

_Oh-Oh-O Children  
Poor old Jim’s white as a ghost  
He’s found the answer that we lost  
We’re all weeping now, weeping because  
There ain’t nothing we can do to protect you_

Hongjoong only smoked after shows, and it was only one cigarette. A ritual. It happened after every show. Just like the meditation before. A pattern. Seonghwa could spend a hundred years studying Hongjoong and never figure him out. He blew out the smoke in his mouth. Seonghwa wondered what his lips tasted like. Wondered if kissing him would be like air to a drowning man. 

“What are you thinking?” He asked. Seonghwa’s head snapped up so fast he got a crick in his neck and winced. They never talked. This was not the ritual. This was new territory. Seonghwa stumbled, like a newborn calf. He wasn’t prepared and he didn’t lie. So he told him.

_O Children  
Lift up your voice, lift up your voice  
Children  
Rejoice, rejoice_

“I wondered what your lips tasted like after smoking.” He replied, breathless. He was always breathless around this man. He had been breathless for the last 3 years. Hongjoong nodded, pulling another drag. He exhaled the smoke, a decision was made in his eyes. Seonghwa was just a spectator of this scene. A member of the audience waiting with baited breath.

_Hey, little train, we are all jumping on  
The train that goes to the Kingdom  
We’re happy Ma, we’re having fun  
And the train ain’t even left the station_

“Okay.” He replied. He threw the cigarette on the ground. Stomped on it with his black boot. Instead of turning to go back in, he faced Seonghwa. He reached up, gripped the back of the taller man’s neck. He tugged. From this close, their noses almost touching, Seonghwa could smell the smoke clinging to him. He didn’t want to find it attractive, but how could someone deny it. Like denying the sun was bright, or that fire was hot. Hongjoong glanced up at Seonghwa, looked deep into his eyes, searching for something. He must have found it because he reached the rest of the way and slotted their lips together. 

Seonghwa burned.

_Hey, little train, wait for me!  
I once was blind, but now I see  
Have you left a seat for me?  
Is that such a stretch of the imagination?_

Their lips moved and pushed and pulled. Seonghwa’s hands found themselves on the tiny waist of their fearless leader. Seonghwa tasted smoke and so much more. He tasted the essence of a soul too fierce and wide for this rotten world. Seonghwa was ready to drop to his knees and weep when Hongjoong finally pulled away. Seonghwa thought he was breathless before, but he couldn’t think after that kiss. His mind was Hongjoong. His soul was Hongjoong. His blood streaming through his veins carried a chant of Hongjoong Hongjoong Hongjoong Hongjoong-

_Hey little train, wait for me!  
I was held in chains, but now I’m free  
I’m hanging in there, don’t you see?  
In this process of elimination_

“Now you know.” Hongjoong said. He turned and walked through the door. Seonghwa couldn’t move. He firmly believed he would die in this alley, behind a shitty concert venue. He knew he had to do something but all he could hear were small ragged pants of air. All he could feel was plush, perfect lips on his own. Then Hongjoong was back in front of him. Smiling. Grinning in fact. He could eat the world raw. Seonghwa felt himself grin back. “Come along.” He stated, tugging Seonghwa by the hand. Who was Seonghwa to deny this man anything? He followed. 

_Hey little train, we are all jumping on  
The train that goes to the Kingdom  
We’re happy, Ma, we’re having fun  
It’s beyond my wildest expectation_

That night as he lay in his hotel bed, he heard a knock at his door. He was content to sleep, and dream, alone, of the events of the day. He could die happy. He pulled open the door and in stepped Hongjoong. He was fluffy, ready for sleep, no tension in his shoulders. No weight of the world on his back. He was not Atlas, he was Hongjoong. Not the beacon of light, Apollo. He was Hongjoong. A friend, an object of love.

Hongjoong, with all the confidence Seonghwa couldn’t muster, pulled on his hand and led him to the bed. They lay together, sighing into each others mouths, into each other’s souls. They breathed and moved as one. Seonghwa kissed promises onto Hongjoong’s perfect skin, wherever he could. _I would follow you to the ends of this earth, you know._ He kissed and kissed and kissed. Hongjoong flipped them. _I know. And I would follow you._ And he too kissed and kissed and kissed. They changed. Hwa was no longer a follower. They lead and followed each other. That night. Oh, that night. The moon and the stars gathered to watch the meeting of these two souls. They sealed their fates to each other. Through success or destruction, they would be together. Together. 

If Seonghwa thought about the decisions that led him to this place, this moment, he would, without a doubt, make them all again. And now he knew Hongjoong would too.

 _Hey little train, we are all jumping on  
The train that goes to the Kingdom  
We’re happy, Ma, we’re having fun  
And the train ain’t even left the station_  


**Author's Note:**

> n e ways,,,,, i hope u enjoyed this...... pls give kudos and comment :')
> 
> come scream abt ateez with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/_moon_bean_)!


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